


Bjorn Free Part Two

by grayspider1974



Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Vulgar Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayspider1974/pseuds/grayspider1974
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bjorn is still in Constantinople. He experiences nun violence, learns about love and money, and starts enjoying himself, but then his family turns up and it all goes pear-shaped. His heart is broken again, and he returns to Kattegat sadder and wiser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bjorn Free Part Two

Chapter Five: Nun Violence  
The next thing Bjorn had to do was to sell the narwhal tusk, which Louhi said was probably worth enough to pay for her flat for a year. As he ambled behind Louhi, some strange woman shouted out “OOOOO! I love a man with a big horn! Her companion added “Cum pure bello praecorum qui udot esse, quid credit, nisi se uendere discupere” and both women laughed uproariously as they walked away.  
“What did she say?” Bjorn asked  
“She quoted Catellus. It means ‘I see a cute man going to an auctioneer, and I think he’s off to sell something dear…really, that Erato has more education than good taste, and her sister Thalia has neither good taste nor education. I might introduce you to their sister Terpsichore, but she’s seldom up before noon…whup! Watch out for the nuns, Bjorn. You might get trampled!”  
A column of women in white robes and strange hats glided past. Bjorn thought he recognised one of them as the nun who had beaned him with a brass tray the night he wandered into the Hagia Sophia, so he sidled over.  
“Um. Hello. I’m sorry about my behaviour the last time we met.” Bjorn smiled in a placatory manner. “You look really pretty.”  
The shrieks of nunly rage echoed across St. Sophia’s Square. Louhi grabbed Bjorn’s arm and tried to drag him away from the nuns, but because he was easily three times her size this was extremely difficult.  
“You don’t say things like that to nuns, Bjorn. They’re celibate,” said Louhi “Do you know what that means?”  
“As a matter of fact I do. Aethelstan was celibate, and it made him bloody miserable. It may explain why these women are so damn mean, because Father always said that women get mean when they’re not…OW! THAT HURT!”  
Bjorn had not wanted to fight with a group of unarmed women, but he had not expected the nun to land a particularly well-aimed kick at the back of his knees and then pick up a loose paving stone and re-open the gash on his forehead.  
“I said I was sorry….I was trying to be nice!” Bjorn said “You’re a very bad Christian!”  
The nun prepared to hit him again with the paving stone just as Louhi waded in, shouting “Num te leana muntibus Libystinus aut Scylla laterans infima inguinum parte tam mente dura procreauit ac taetra, ut supplicis uocem in nouissymo casu contemptam haberes, a nimis fero corde!”  
The nun stared at Louhi, then down at Bjorn, then back at Louhi. “Don’t quote Catellus at me, bitch…”she said, but she dropped the paving stone and walked away hurriedly.  
“Just stay down, Bjorn” said Louhi. “Your head is bleeding again.” She rummaged around a bit in her pockets and sleeves, and then went and bought a sea sponge and a bottle of vinegar from two nearby vendors.  
“I have no desire to ruin another pashima,” she said. “You still owe me for the last one.” The sponge was soaked in vinegar, and Bjorn bit back a yelp when she told him to press it to his forehead.  
“I thought Christians believed that only people who were without sin should cast stones,” Bjorn said. “And are you sure this will help? It stings like a bitch!”  
“Everyone sins,” said Louhi “and most of us cast stones when we should not, no matter what we say we believe in….and yes, it stings like a bitch. That’s how you know it’s working. I think you can try to stand up now, but be careful.”  
Bjorn stood up, but he was still a little wobbly. “That nun is a bad Christian, but she’d make an excellent shield maiden. Ow. Never mind…have I still got my narwhal tusk?”  
Louhi handed the narwhal tusk back to him. “I can imagine what would happen if you stabbed a nun with this thing. It would make being trapped on a boat with a crew of horny hoplites look like a church picnic…but never mind. The ivory seller sets up his booth at the other end of the market, and I think there’s something you might want to buy at the shop next to his. You’ll know what I mean when we get there…in fact, you’ll smell it.”  
The ivory merchant’s stall was in the quarter of the market reserved for expensive luxury items, far removed from the sellers of vegetables and sea sponges and vinegar, and it stood between a seller of fine glassware and a perfumer’s shop that smelled like a whale had been force-fed on spices and beaver testicles and then vomited in a rose garden. The merchant styled himself Dr. Love, and his skin was an even deeper shade of brown than Memphis Sally’s, and he had a deep, dark voice to go with it, though he seemed to have something wrong with his breathing.  
“So this is the beautiful blue-eyed boy who mutilates Greeks?” he asked, and then inhaled and exhaled twice, which sounded something like “who…poor…who…poor?” He grinned broadly, revealing several gold teeth. “I must say I approve most heartily. Do you have any sisters…who….poor?”  
“I had one, but she’s dead.” Bjorn said. “I had a wife too, but she ran off. I got a daughter, but she’s really little.”  
“Ah. A terrible pity…who…poor…if your sister looked anything like you, she must have been quite pretty…who…poor…and I am in need of a wife or two…ha, ha, ha!”  
“Cut the small talk, Dr. Love. How much do you want to pay for the unicorn horn.”  
“Ten thousand drachmae.”  
“It’s worth thirty thousand!”  
“Take it…who…poor…or leave it!”  
Bjorn sat down and took out his axe and whetstone. He began sharpening the axe, grinning broadly the whole time. He thought it best to keep it mum that the item he was selling was in fact a narwhal tusk that had washed up on the shores of the Baltic Sea rather than the horn of a mythical horse-like land mammal.  
“I’ll take twenty-seven thousand drachmae,” he said.  
“Fifteen hundred. You’re…who….poor…going to beggar me if I pay more.”  
The whetstone made a horrible noise, like fingernails on a slate.  
“Oh, my poor ailing…who…poor…grandfather! Seventeen hundred drachmae, and not an obol more!”  
Bjorn continued sharpening his axe and grinning maniacally. “There are a lot of elephant tusks in your shop, Dr. Love” he said. “I feel sorry for all those poor, dead elephants. At least my horn did not come from a dead animal…they shed them naturally once a year.” He knew this to be true of narwhals, at least. “Those poor dead elephants…” He took a practice swing. “It makes me mad…”  
“Who…poor…I might be able to give you twenty thousand drachmae…” said Dr. Love. They finally settled on a price of twenty-one thousand drachmae.  
“The pashima shop is that-a-ways,” said Louhi “but first, go next door and buy some whale vomit…they call it ambergris here.” They walked in to the adjoining shop, and walked out with a small bag of ambergris.  
“This might help you with your…um…problem,” said Louhi “if I am correct and it’s women’s body odour that sets you off. Wear it around your neck.  
“It stinks.”  
“That’s the idea. Now, on to the pashima shop, and mind your head!”

 

Bjorn would have bought pashimae for the Cohenim as well, but Louhi told him that devout Jews did not wear blended fabrics, and suggested that he buy them silk chiffon shawls embroidered with seed pearls instead. He bought one for Sally as well, because the merchant had given him a discount because he had bought in bulk and on account of all the poor silkworms that had died to make the shawls. He really rather liked the Cohen sisters, but he understood that they were entirely off-limits to him, because Mrs. Cohen had said “If you put your shlong where it does not belong, then I swear by all that is holy that I will cut it off!”  
The man who ran the bath house was waiting for him outside, scowling. He had no fewer than six armed thugs with him.  
“Where’s Sally?” Bjorn asked.  
“She’s not here, pervert. Whatever arrangements you have with here, you will have to go somewhere else to do your freaky thing. The other clients complained about the noise. I heard it too…and it sounded like you were violating a Dacian catamite!”  
“I have a really bad back,” said Bjorn. “It hurts.”  
“You’re a sicko. This is a reputable establishment, so fuck off!”  
“Where’s Sally?” Bjorn asked again.  
“She fucked off… I hope she’s on the next boat back to Egypt, because I don’t want to see her black ass anywhere near here, nor yours.”  
“I’ll ask you again…” said Bjorn “Where is Sally?”  
“Bite me, Blondie.”  
Bjorn leaned in and snapped his teeth an inch from the bath house keeper’s nose.  
“One last time…” he said “Where is Sally?”  
“Try the docks, or the strega who lives above the bakery on Dyer’s Road. She’s pals with her.”

The “strega who lives above the bakery on Dyer’s Road” turned out to be Lady Lou. Her flat was dark, stuffy, and filled with books, scrolls, and far more throw pillows than was entirely necessary, but it smelled rather nicely of coffee and freshly baked baklava. Sally sat on the floor, blubbing shamelessly.  
“You yellow-haired freak!” she sobbed. “I did what I did because I liked you, and it cost me my job!”  
“I’m sorry, Sally!”  
“Bite me…I don’ want to be a whore!”  
“What?” Bjorn was utterly confused by this situation.  
“I said I don’t want to do what I did for you for money, and now that the bath house has sacked me, there’s bloody little else I can do!”  
Louhi raised her hands and said “Feh!”, but she gave Bjorn a Very Significant Look.  
“Um,” said Bjorn “I can give you some money if you need it.”  
“I’m not a whore!” Sally repeated.  
“It’s not a fee, it’s a gift…or a loan, if you prefer.”  
Louhi raised an eyebrow.  
“I never meant for you to lose your job, Sally. You helped me of your own free will.”  
“You can stay here if you like,” added Louhi. “People hear all kinds of strange noises coming through the walls here…in fact, the man next to me is a Dacian catamite, and he also plays the bassoon, and no one even bothers to complain about it anymore.”  
Bjorn handed Sally five thousand drachmae “This should defray the cost of the flat and pay for your other expenses for a few months…do you still like me?” He could hear discordant honks and tweets from the apartment next door.  
“That’s our neighbour,” said Louhi. “I think I better step out for a while.”  
“Aw, c’mon Sally,” Bjorn wheedled. “I like you. Do you still like me? ‘Cos my problem is only going to get worse if you don’t!”  
Louhi walked out the door with her hands over her ears, humming loudly.  
Over the next month or so, Bjorn was happier than he had been for most of his life. Constantinople was big, it was clean, it was beautiful…it was, in a word, awesome. The biggest city he had ever seen before had been Paris, but Constantinople could eat Paris and shit it out again the next morning. Mr. Cohen hired Bjorn as his personal bodyguard, as this was something that many important officials did, more as a status symbol than anything else. Bjorn’s job was to stand around and look menacing, and to take Aunt Sadie and the girls shopping twice a week. The “poor elephants” routine earned them discounts on many animal products, except at the butcher shop. Nathaniel Butcher, the best kosher butcher in Constantinople, had simply pulled out the biggest, sharpest cleaver in the shop and said “Ya wanna wanga with me, Blondie? Bring it on!” He did however make excellent smoked meat which Bjorn thought would be excellent on Helga’s rye bread. In fact, pretty much all the food in Constantinople was amazing. The people were in fact the best fed, the healthiest, and (in the case of the women) the most attractive in Europe or the Near East. They also lived longer, were more likely to have some sort of education, and had more ways to have fun than any other city that he knew of. On the Sabbath, while the Cohenim were at temple, he would go visit Sally to deal with his problem until the Dacian next door stopped honking and started pounding on the walls. Then Bjorn would cook and eat some bacon, which he was not allowed to do at the house of the Cohenim. And after he had found an odd little shop in a back alley that sold the right species of mushroom, he would go to the baths (a different bath hose than the one Sally had worked at…here they had a really hot sauna and people left you alone) and then creep into the Church of Holy Wisdom and talk to the Mother. The doors were never closed, and it was explained to Bjorn that the priests thought that he was some weird barbarian convert to Christ, and tolerated him so long as he did not molest the nuns or disturb regular services because the sight of him shaking, moaning, moaning, muttering in strange languages (Louhi had determined that he was in fact uttering a confused jumble of the Voluspa, the Torah, the Kalevala, and the poems of Rumi, though she was at a loss to explain where he’d learned the last two) and sometimes crying in a loud voice frightened and dismayed the parishioners.  
“Well,” Louhi had said “If you’re going to worship something, worship Wisdom.”  
And so Bjorn did…at least until his family showed up.  
Chapter Six: You Again!  
The high, shrill scream emanating from St. Sophia’s Square brought Bjorn out of his altered state, and most of the hallucinatory letters vanished except for the odd lilac Alpha or Omega, and the words “By one man’s will many may woe endure” written in red Futhark runes which were being pursued by something written in lime green Arabic letters. The Square was bathed in mellow golden light, but what Bjorn saw shocked him. He had not seen Floki since he left Kattegat, and yet there the putz stood in the middle of St. Sophia’s Square pointing and uttering that impossible, high-pitched scream. Floki looked like death warmed over as he always had, but his face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated terror. It took Bjorn a few seconds to realize that Floki was not pointing and screaming at him, but at the Church of Mother Wisdom. The word “woe” hovered in the air hovered in the air as Bjorn circled his father’s friend, flicked his fingers under Floki’s nose, and stomped on his foot, all without response.  
“What the fuck?” Bjorn asked no one in particular. He realised something strange. Floki was here…but where were Mother and Father and everyone else? He headed to the docks, as he pelted down the streets, a girl in a yashmak stopped and stared at him. She had blue eyes…Norse eyes!  
“Not you again!” she yelled, and then ran off. Bjorn could not see her face, but her body odour was familiar…  
“Thorun!” he said to himself, but he really had no time to chase after her, so he kept running to the docks, with the small bag of ambergris that he had nicknamed his stink bag pressed firmly over his nose. He slipped and skidded and actually fell a couple of times, but if anyone had ever recorded the length of time it took to get from St. Sophia’s Square to the harbour, Bjorn would have broken that record. When he got there, he uttered a startled yelp, because the harbour was swarming with aedili. The Little Sisters of No Mercy were stooping for paving stones and unlimbering peculiar double clubs linked by chains. Sam the Butcher was there too, chortling and fingering his cleaver. Moored in the harbour was a huge trading galley named the Stella Mort, which was armed with pumps which were designed to spew Greek Fire…and there, next to the Stella Mort was a comparatively small Volga trading vessel, with his mother standing in the bow.  
“Mother? Mother! What are you DOING Mother?” Bjorn yelled, then added “Stop! No! Wait!” On the bow of the Stella Mort stood Dr. Love, holding a large sabre.  
“Hello…who…poor…Blondie! It seems like I…who…poor…am holding the sharp object now…HA! HA! HA!”  
“No! Wait! Don’t fire! SHE’S MY MOTHER!” Bjorn yelled. For some reason, he smelled burnt hair.  
“I told you the harbour master is not here because it is Shabbas,” said Louhi “and if you lay a hand on me, I will only come back in my next life as someone even more annoying, so STAND DOWN!” A white, flapping shape pelted through the dwindling light, holding his hands over his mouth as though he was trying not to vomit. “I believe that’s your idiot son right there, so calm down, Mrs. Lothbrook.”  
Lagartha’s hair was standing on end, as was that of all fifty of the shield wives that had followed her from Kattegat….evidence that Louhi had just set off a particularly powerful Touch Me Not. Bjorn had asked Louhi to teach him how to use Touch Me Not and See Me Not, but had not really understood her explanation of how they worked. If he had, he would have used See Me Not and tried to sneak away.  
“Bjorn!” his mother shouted “I always knew your father was an idiot, but YOU….this is as bad as when your Uncle Rollo went over to the French! Where were you?”  
“Um…” said Bjorn “I was up at that big church with the domes. I think there’s something wrong with Floki.”  
“There is ALWAYS something wrong with Floki,” said his mother “AND WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN A FRIGGIN’ CHURCH?”  
“Um,” Bjorn said “Ouch.” The wind had suddenly changed, and even a fistful of ambergris could not cover the scent of fifty women who had not washed since they had left Estonia, if not Norway.  
“Oy, vey!” was about all he could manage to say.  
“He was going to convert to Judaism, but I explained what that entailed,” said Louhi “Now I don’t know what to call him!”  
“He is an idiot, just like his father,” said Lagartha.  
“Um,” said Bjorn “Where is Father, anyway?”  
“He is back in Kattegat. He told me to go find you a month after you left.”  
“Um,” said Bjorn “I’m sorry.”  
“Sorry is not good enough. What are you doing here, why are you wearing a duvet cover…and what in Hell is that horrific noise?  
Bjorn listened for a minute or so, and realized that there were in fact TWO horrific noises. “One is a Dacian catamite playing the bassoon, and the other is Floki screaming his head off,” he said “Mother, come with me…you REALLY need a bath!”  
It was now after sundown. Mister Cohen had been informed of the situation, and the aedili were finally standing down. Nate Butcher went home, muttering to himself, and the nuns all glided off in a row.  
“Later…who...poor…bitches!” Dr Love shouted from the bow of the Stella Mort. “Unless you want to come aboard…who…poor…for a taste of brown sugar! HA! HA! HA!”  
“You really do need a bath, Mother” said Bjorn “and I hope the wine shops are still open.”

The courtyard of the Cohen house rang with the sounds of fifty women getting happily plastered on kosher wine, bagels, cream cheese and lox. They were stripping figs from the trees and raiding the Cohen family’s wardrobes.  
“Don’t worry,” Bjorn said. “I can replace the dresses,” There was a loud cry from Mrs. Cohen that someone had urinated on her prized Oriental rug. “I’ll also replace the rug. I can’t be too sure about Rabbi Cohen’s dignity” Rabbi Cohen was raging drunk and a shield wife was trying to billygoat him “though he seems to be having fun.”  
Over and above these sounds, Floki was still screaming.

 

Chapter Seven: Bloody Fucking Stupid  
Floki was still screaming the next morning, a high, thin wail that cut through the clear morning air like a knife.  
“We sent him out as a scout before we reached port,” Lagartha said. “Hey you…stop that!” A nun was perched on top of a stool, trying to pour water into Floki’s mouth with a long-spouted coffee pot.  
“He’ll dehydrate if I don’t…oh, you beast!” The nun glowered at Bjorn “Ne me molestere, rectum!” she snapped, and gave Bjorn a Significant Look before she hopped off the stool and stalked off, muttering.  
“You’re one Nasty Habit,” Bjorn shouted after her, and dodged the coffee pot.  
“All right,” Bjorn said to Louhi “What could make a man go completely rigid?”  
“I could!” Thalia yelled from the crowd “Where’s your horn?”  
“Up your skirt!” Bjorn yelled back.  
“Oooooooooo!” Thalia walked off, swishing her skirts flirtatiously.  
“Are there any other suggestions? Bjorn asked  
“Tetanus,” said Louhi. “But it doesn’t come on this quickly, and there’s no sign of injury.” She stood on her tiptoes and laid a Touch Me Not on the end of Floki’s nose, jabbed his fingers with a pin, and smelled his breath.  
“His breath is truly foul,” she said.  
“It always is,” said Bjorn “I never could understand how his wife could tolerate it.”  
“He looks like death warmed over.”  
“He always did.”  
“What’s all that black crud around his eyes?”  
“I never really figured that out,” said Bjorn.”  
“Hmmmmmn,” said Louhi. “Well he seems to be quite literally rigid with fear. He’s pointing to the Church of Holy Mother Wisdom, so what he fears has something to do with that church.”  
“He hates Christians, and anything to do with Christianity,” said Bjorn “That I do know. He killed my father’s pet priest. “  
“We might have something there,” said Louhi. The bells of Holy Mother boomed out, calling the faithful to prayer. “Was he a good priest?”  
“He was a good man,” said Bjorn. “At least I thought so.”  
“He was a wanker,” said Lagartha.  
People were shuffling past them on the way to church. A girl of about ten whose hair was tied up in a snood stared up at Floki. “Is your friend sick?” she asked Bjorn.  
“We think so,” said Bjorn.  
“Then take him to Mama, and she will make him better.” The girl handed Bjorn an object on a chain. “Give this to him. I can’t reach high enough to put it on him.” It was a tiny coin-silver fish, with something written on it in Greek that was nearly illegible. Then she scurried off, shouting “Mama is waiting!” over her shoulder.  
Bjorn draped the chain over Floki’s upraised finger. The fish hung for a moment, then suddenly started swinging back and forth violently, then began to float in midair.  
“Now that’s quite unusual,” said Louhi. She took off her pashima, and it hung in the air as well. “There’s some sort of magic here, maybe…oh! The devil! The devil in life! The Hagia is keeping him here. What did he DO?”  
“He killed Aethelstan. He’s killed a few people, in fact,” said Bjorn. “The chain’s melted where it touched his hand…he’s got a nasty burn, now.”  
“Go get Rabbi Cohen,” said Louhi. “I think I know what this is, and it’s really not my stock in trade. I don’t deal in curses or mess with the Underworld….it’s too dangerous, and not really profitable…but I believe we have a dybbuk on our hands.”  
Rabbi Cohen shuffled into St. Sophia’s Square. “I have a fekafta hangover,” he said “Those shield wives drink like ale wives. I think I may have pulled something in my groin, too….Oy!” He paused, staring at Floki “Who let this putz in? It looks like you have a dybbuk on your hands, I am sure of that. I think the Shekinah is trying to pull the dybbuk out of him, but the damn thing is fighting her…”  
“The Shekinah is the Hebrew name for Wisdom,” explained Louhi. “The Greeks call her Sophia…technically speaking, she’s not a saint, she’s one of the Names…”  
“…and you’re not supposed to speak the Names unless you have to, Lou!” said Rabbi Cohen. A woman yelped as her pashima scarf unwound from her neck and flew over to hang in the air, followed by two earrings and a gold tooth.  
“The electromagnetic disturbance is a bit unusual ,” said the Rabbi. “I hope one of you have any piercings. It is best that you keep people out of the square until this is over. He killed someone…most likely a priest or a monk or some other sort of holy man…no?”  
“Aethelstan was Father’s friend. A good friend.”  
“He may have been a good friend, but he must have been a shitty priest. What did he do…did he try to bugger you?”  
“Hell, no!”  
“Your mother?”  
“Um…” said Bjorn “It was the other way around. Mother was trying to be nice to him.”  
“Oh really? REALLY? YOUR MOTHER TRIED TO FUCK A CATHOLIC CLERIC JUST TO BE NICE TO HIM?!” Louhi nearly doubled over with laughter. “I thought you were bonzo when you told a nun you thought she was pretty,” she said “but your mother…whoooo!”  
“It was Ragnar’s idea,” said Lagartha “I just felt sorry for the poor man….and besides, he refused. I think he porked someone else a bit later on, though.”  
“Your husband put you up to it?” Louhi asked, and started cackling again. “Oh, what an absolute buckethead! What an absolute…gack!”  
Bjorn had slapped her….not as hard as he could, because she was an old woman, but hard enough.  
“Thank you,” Louhi said. “I was about to lose my grip on myself. Anyway, even though you and I might think a vow of celibacy to be really stupid, but it’s still a promise to Christ, and a man who can’t keep a promise to Christ is a real shmuck. Christ may forgive him, but I wouldn’t….but then again, I’m not a Christian, I’m a pragmatist. I believe in sisu.”  
“I liked Aethelstan,” said Bjorn. “He was a nice person.”  
“Being nice is not the same as having sisu,” said Louhi.  
“I just felt sorry for the man, even though he was a terrible wanker,” said Lagartha “Oh….and when we took him back to England, they accused him of being an apostate. I’m not entirely sure what that word means.”  
“It’s Latin for ‘shmuck who can’t keep a promise he made to Christ’” said Rabbi Cohen “or in other words a Very Bad Christian.”  
“I really just felt sorry for him,” said Lagberta “and Floki had no sane reason to kill him.”  
“The point is that apostates sometimes attract…hmmmn….other entities that are Not Very Nice. They tend to attract dybbukim like whores get crab lice. In fact, priests who break their vows often get crab lice as well.”  
“Well, he never got crab lice from me,” said Lagberta “because he did not sleep with me, and I’ve never had crab lice anyway.”  
“That’s not the point,” said Louhi. “The point is that he had something very much like a communicable disease that was most likely spread by coming in contact with bodily fluids. I imagine the poor bastard was killed in some sort of physical confrontation. There would be blood everywhere. Now has anyone else come in contact with Aethelstan’s or Floki’s bodily fluids?”  
“Floki has a wife. I don’t think he spreads his seed that much. He’s not like Father. Oh shit…I think Father let Aethelstan use his razor a few times…it’s a bloody filthy habit to use someone else’s grooming tools, but he did it anyway. That means Father might be infected, and that wretched second wife, and he’s cheated on her a few times…actually, if Father has it, then half of Kattegat may be infected. He’s either fucked or bled on everybody…I know he’s bled on me. This brings new meaning to the phrase ‘bloody fucking stupid!’”  
“But you have not exhibited any symptoms,” said Louhi. “Have you or any member of your community shown signs of priapism?”  
“That’s where you get a huge….ow!” A flying drift of pins had just struck Bjorn. “Not that I’ve seen, though Father is pretty damn close.”  
“Ventriloquism, strange unexplained sounds, or unexplained wounds , bruises or other marks on the body?”  
“I sometimes shave Father’s head and write stuff on it as a joke, but other than that, no.”  
“What about inexplicable mood swings or violent behaviour?”  
“Father has ALWAYS been moody and sometimes violent.”  
“Hmmmmn….what about unusual changes in appetite, or the compulsion to eat non-food items?”  
“No.”  
“Has there been any projectile vomiting, or vomiting of sharp objects such as pins?”  
“No…except for when I got food poisoning, but you were there when that happened.”  
“Well, I think you’re safe, but keep an eye open for sudden changes” said Rabbi Cohen. Now if you turn away, I would like to exorcise your friend. Just try to keep people away from here as long as possible. This may take some time.  
It did. Rabbi Cohen chanted and swore. He even kicked Floki on the kneecap and yelled “You in there. Get out!” and Louhi suggested trepanation as an alternate course of treatment. Inside the Church of Mother Wisdom, a child was being baptized, so the doors were shut until noon. Then the bells rang out again.  
Floki’s diabolical shriek increased in volume, and a strange pulse, like the strongest Touch Me Not ever rippled across St. Sophia’s Square. The parishioners and priests ambled piously out into the Square, and then fled in panic as the small metal objects that had hung in the air suddenly became a swirling, glittering maelstrom that stung like a swarm of wasps. The only person who was not panicking was the strange little girl in the snood, who stood in the doorway, beckoning.  
“Come on, Mama’s waiting. Don’t you understand? I SAID COME!”  
Bjorn finally understood what was expected of him, so he picked up Floki and bolted across St. Sophia’s Square shouting the Mother’s words as he went.  
“I have called, and ye refused. I have stretched out my hand…ye have set at nought all my counsel…your fear comes as a desolation, and your destruction as a whirlwind, distress and anguish cometh upon you…do not hate knowledge, do not choose fear….the turning away of the ignorant will destroy them….listen to me, be quiet from fear…” and then with a loud splash he threw Floki in the baptismal font.  
“Oy vey, this is not good,” Bjorn thought. The Archbishop of Constantinople had actually made a personal visit to scream and spit nails at him, because evidently lay people were not allowed to perform exorcisms, and dropping Floki into the baptismal pool was a form of sacrilege. Bjorn contemplated splitting the prelate’s skull open, but realized that this was not only Highly Inappropriate Behavior, it would probably make the situation worse, so he stood there and assumed the woebegone expression that he had learned by copying Aethelstan until the Archbishop got fed up and left. Floki had screamed too, because he was afraid that he had been forcibly baptized, until Louhi explained that as a lay person Bjorn could not perform baptism…all he had done was shock Floki out of his catatonic state and leave a nasty, grimy ring around the baptismal pool. The Cohens screamed at him as well because one of his mother’s shield maidens had pissed on their rug on Sabbath night.  
“It was such a lovely rug….it really pulled the room together…” said Rabbi Joel. The Cohen girls’ wardrobes had been utterly ransacked as well. So on Monday Bjorn took the Cohenim shopping, and because he had a few things to explain to his mother, he took her along.  
“You see, Mother, I really rather like it here,” said Bjorn. “I like the climate, I like the food…”  
“I can see that,” said Lagartha. “You’ve gained weight. The duvet cover hides it, but pretty soon you’re going to have to stop calling yourself ‘Ironsides.’”  
“Hey…I don’t…well, maybe I’ve gained a little, and it’s called a kaftan, Mother. Anyway, I like not freezing my ass off for six months of the year, I like having fresh fruits and vegetables in my diet, I like being around people who are not totally fucking insane, and most of all I like MONEY. There’s so much money in this city, but if we came in and tried to take it like we usually do, they would kill us all, because they’d prefer to keep most of what they’ve got.  
“That’s not surprising,” said Lagartha.  
“However, they will EXCHANGE their money for things we can give them,” said Bjorn. “In my case, the fact that I am one big, scary son of a bitch.”  
“You’re as bad as Rollo,” said his mother.  
“Rollo sold us out, which was stupid. He also made his deal with the French, and got rooked into a contract he could not get out of. I suppose that’s what happens when you think with your shlong.” He pulled out his bag of ambergris and sniffed at it as a particularly luscious girl wiggled past.  
“Why do you do that?” his mother asked.  
Bjorn explained about his unusual problem. “And another thing….they pay through the nose for whale puke…they call it ambergris. You wouldn’t believe the price I got for an old narwhal tusk. They like fur and amber too, but they’ll pay more for stuff we might pick up on the beach. Ha…looks like the dealer I sold my tusk to packed up his shop, and good riddance. The rug shops are all down on Dyer Street….oh, I’m going to have to introduce you to Sally…  
They got to the flat above the bakery, but Sally was not there. Bjorn dropped the big, blue-and-green double sided carpet in a corner, then went next door to where Louhi was giving medical aid to her neighbour, who had come across some rough trade and been violated with his own bassoon.  
“All I wanted was to give the world music!” he said.  
“Believe it or not, said Louhi “you really do sound like a Dacian catamite being violated when you get off…or perhaps more like a Dacian catamite having something pulled out of his bottom. Can you hand me a towel?”  
The bassoon emitted a peculiar honk.  
“I’m sorry,” said the catamite “I just couldn’t hold that one in.”  
“Where’s Sally?” Bjorn asked  
“She left about an hour ago,” said Louhi “with another girl who came to help carry her things.”  
“Who?” Bjorn asked.  
“I don’t know,” said Louhi “She was wearing a yashmak.”  
Chapter Eight: Stella Mort  
The Stella Mort was still moored in the harbour, and Sally sat on the deck. The girl in the yashmak sat there too, doing Sally’s nails. Bjorn was by now quite certain as to who she was.  
“Take off the mask, Thorunn. You don’t need it.  
His wife flipped him the bird.  
“You don’t have to do this to me, either of you,” Bjorn said.  
“Yes we do,” said Sally. “I’m not going to Kattegat, and neither is she. I’ve met your mother, and Thorunn told me about the rest of your family. King Ragnar sounds like an absolute prick! I’m going back to Egypt….at least it’s warm there, and I might live to see fifty.”  
“You really are a whore, Sally.”  
She too flipped him the bird. “If you like it maybe you should put a ring upon it….”she said.  
“How did you know who I was?” asked Thorunn.  
“That’s fairly simple….” said Bjorn. “I may forget a face, but I can sniff out a minge from a mile away. Yours used to….oh shit, it still does….” Even with his stink bag clapped over his nose, the cramps nearly dropped him, but Bjorn grabbed hold of a mooring post and clung for dear life.  
“….Who….poor…Hello, you blue-eyed bastard!” Dr. Love’s round black head poked out of a portal. “What did you just say about my hairstylist’s….who….poor…pussy?”  
“She’s not your hairstylist she’s my WIFE!”  
“Not....who…poor…any more!”  
“I belong to myself,” said Thorunn “thank you very much.”  
Bjorn curled into a tight ball, and sincerely wished he could die at that very moment.  
“If you really want to know, said Thorunn “it wasn’t you away from, it was your family. You’re rather sweet….although terrible in bed….but your father really is a prick, your mother is more like a natural disaster than a human being, your father’s second wife is a viper in a silk dress, and there’s that weird priest moping about all the time…”  
“Not any more,” said Bjorn “Floki….oh well, speak of the devil…”  
Floki had ambled down to the docks as well. “Hullo, Thorunn!” he said aimiably “I killed the priest, Thorunn….but Ragnar’s latest pet is an even bigger pain in the ass…”  
Thorunn pointed “And don’t forget Floki, he’s the worst shithead of the bunch!”  
Floki hissed and spat at her like a cat. “Speak for yourself, missy! Hm!”  
The sudden, volcanic roar that seemed to bubble up from Bjorn’s groin and force its way up his throat surprised even himself…it was exactly the same sound as the scream of a Dacian catamite having a bassoon pulled from his bottom.  
“Um….if SHE doesn’t want him, can I have him?” Thalia yelled from the crowd. Erato, on the other hand trotted up to Bjorn, patted him on the shoulder and said “’Odi et amo, quare id faciam, fortasse requires? Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior..’ It means ‘I hate and I love….don’t ask me why, but they both friggin’ hurt!’” Then she winked, and vanished.  
Eventually, Lagartha came and scooped up the soggy, wet ball of misery that was her son. “I might as well go home,” Bjorn said “because things are obviously going to fall apart without me. Before I go I need to spend the rest of what I’ve earned.” He gave half of his money to his mother “Divide this among the shield wives, and tell them to buy things they can’t get back home. As for myself, I am going to the book stores and the spice market.”  
The Cohenim came jogging up in a bunch.  
“I heard screams,” said Mr. Cohen “and figured you were either getting off or in serious trouble. I guess this is buh-bye, Bjorn.” The Cohen girls swarmed up and gang-hugged him. Rachel and Ruth whispered “buh-bye” in each of his ears, but Rebbecca chuckled and surreptitiously copped a feel before she demurely fluttered off.  
“Right…” Bjorn said “Spices and books.”  
Nathan Butcher’s shop was at the end of the Spice Market, bnd Bjorn was getting hungry again.  
“So you’re headed up the river on a boat with fifty-one vildehayas…” Nate asked “Can I come with you? Please? Please?”  
Bjorn glanced at his mother, who was sniffing at the bags of cinnamon, cloves, and anise that her son had bought. Spices were worth as much as gold and easier to carry, but she was not entirely sure what to do with them. She seemed to like the attar of roses that her son had given her, and was rather amused by the illustrated volume of Latin poetry that Louhi had recommended he buy and attempt to translate. The illustrations were quite lewd, and gave Bjorn a fairly good idea what the book was about.  
“Please,” said Nate “Look at my face. Look at my face. I’m begging you. I’m beg-ging you!”  
Floki had just stuck his head through the shop door. He hissed suspiciously at Nate.  
Nate regarded him calmly. “You wanna wanga with me, Long Shanks? I think your liver would taste nice fried with onions!”  
That shut Floki up for once.  
“I think we should keep him, Mother” said Bjorn. “He may not be as good in a fight as he thinks he is, but his smoked meat is damn good, and Floki needs someone to annoy him.”  
Lagartha started to laugh. Thalia (who ALWAYS seemed to follow Bjorn for some reason known only to herself and the other Muses) shouted out “I’ll have what SHE’S having!”  
Maybe we all should…


End file.
